


Red

by we_are_visionarys



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:34:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_visionarys/pseuds/we_are_visionarys
Summary: 'No no no no. Not you. Not you.' He scrambled backwards - away from me. Scared of me.  
I ignored his words. If I let myself hear them, I wasn't sure that I'd be able to stay standing, and I was the only one in camp with the knowledge to help him. As he struggled to get away from me, he had let go of his wound, and it was now bleeding profusely. His lower shirt was drenched in blood. The sight alone sent a chill down my tailbone. He had turned now, to run, and I knew in my bones that if he ran, he would die.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First fic - be nice. :)

He stumbled through the gates and my breath caught in my throat. Both of his hands clutched at his stomach, doing little to stem the flow of blood that ran from a gaping wound. He had a crazed look about him, an air which did not suit him. It was difficult to reconcile this man with the Bellamy in my head. He looked around wildly, searching for something. I half walked, half ran over to him, a lump in my throat and a tremble in my fingers. He saw me and something frightening crossed his face, like he was scared of me, like I would hurt him. And then he did something that I swear made my heart stop for a second. As I approached him, he cried out, almost whimpered, 

'No no no no. Not you. Not you.' He scrambled backwards - away from me. Scared of me. 

I ignored his words. If I let myself hear them, I wasn't sure that I'd be able to stay standing, and I was the only one in camp with the knowledge to help him. As he struggled to get away from me, he had let go of his wound, and it was now bleeding profusely. His lower shirt was drenched in blood. The sight alone sent a chill down my tailbone. He had turned now, to run, and I knew in my bones that if he ran, he would die. He couldn't survive the blood loss. 

'Bellamy...' I called out warningly. He half turned, eyeing me. There was something in his eyes, something so wild, mixed in with a terrible suffering. Hesitantly, I reached out a hand to him, still looking into his eyes, despite the fact that quite frankly, what was in them was scaring me. He was quite still, looking to my hand and then to my eyes and back. I'm not sure what I'd hoped to accomplish just by touching him. Perhaps I thought my touch would magically calm him and I would lead him back to med bay, his saviour. It had the opposite effect. The moment my hand connected with his shoulder, he exploded. 

All of his muscles tensed and his fist drew back, and then returned, like an elastic band, colliding with my temple, sending me sprawling on the ground, tendrils of pain shooting into my eyes. I think I may have passed out for a little bit, because when I staggered dazedly to my feet, Monty was beside me, helping me up. Jasper, Octavia, and Raven had reached Bellamy. He hadn't lost that wild look that looked so strange on him. 

'Bellamy... What happened?' Octavia cried out. There was no response. He faced them warily, like he was ready to defend an attack. 

'Ok everyone. Take a limb each.' Raven spoke in an authoritative yet resigned tone, no emotion showing. The other two nodded as Monty and I got there, me holding my head. In some unspoken agreement, Jasper, Octavia, Monty and Raven simultaneously tackled Bellamy to the ground. With a roar, he lashed out. I took his head in my hands, concerned that he would start hitting it on the ground. He punched, kicked, spat and bit. Raven took a hit to the shoulder that almost made her let go, and I saw Jasper shrug off a kick to his stomach. He no longer seemed like Bellamy, even like a human. He was fighting to be released, fighting for his freedom, and I felt so horrible for containing him, even when I knew we were helping. I caught Octavia's eye, asking a silent question. After a slight hesitation, she nodded. Taking a deep breath. I released Bellamy's head and sprinted for the med bay. My fingers felt cold where they had been tangled in his hair. 

I turned the corner into med bay and headed straight for the supply closet. I slammed the door open and the first thing I saw was the green seaweed, sitting in a transparent container. I looked around wildly, searching for the same thing in liquid form. And there it was – sitting innocently on the third shelf ready made in a hypodermic needle. I snatched it and stared at it for a moment, breathing heavily. I hoped we were right. Just in case, I snagged a red one as well before turning on my heel and sprinting back to him. 

It was a sight to behold, but not one I could appreciate – the sight of Bellamy held down by four people, screaming his head off, calling them names, swearing. There must be some kind of drug in his system, perhaps on the blade that made mincemeat of his gut. I crouched beside the arm that Octavia held, searching for her approval before I did it, and she nodded again, close to tears. Breathing through my teeth, I focused on his elbow, ignoring his face, his words. The needle went in, and came out again. Simple. Easy. Octavia looked back at me, a frightened, questioning look on her face. I gave her what I hoped what a reassuring smile and returned to my post at his head. 

I clasped either side of his face, and he jerked and spat underneath my hands. 

'Get off me, you bastards. Get off!' Bellamy yelled out in his gravelly tones that usually made me shiver. 

'Bellamy.' I couldn't stop myself. 'Bellamy, it's us. You're safe. We're here to help.' This appeared to have no effect whatsoever, except to focus his attack on me. He somehow managed to punch me in the shoulder and scratch a line down my cheek before Raven and Octavia had their respective arms back under control. I didn't allow myself to feel the pain. That wouldn't help Bellamy. 

I focused on his face. His face looked strange upside down. Or maybe it looked strange drugged. I couldn't tell which. His lips that were usually twisted in an arrogant smile were curled ferociously. His eyes were frenzied and full of fear – an emotion seldom seen in the eyes of Bellamy Blake. His curls were sweaty under my hands. He wrenched himself upwards and I wasn’t sure how much longer we could control him. He must have already bled a significant amount, and I was beginning to think the needle hadn't worked. 

And just then, his movements slowed. 

'Wha-?' He mumbled. Breathing a sigh of relief, I shifted my hands to underneath his head. His limbs dropped, and his head was the last to go. His eyes rolled upwards, unseeing, but what I saw in them made my heart stop. Pain. It had looked like he was still in pain. But that couldn't be. Jasper hadn't felt a thing when we used the green seaweed on him. It must have been my imagination. Bellamy fell completely limp and the four of them looked to me for what to do. I shut my eyes for second and suddenly remembered that my head hurt. 

'Can you carry him to med bay? Get him on a table.' They got to their feet and, as gently as they could, picked him up. It was an awkward position that couldn't be maintained for very long, so I abandoned his head and ran ahead to med bay to clear a table for him. The place was practically empty, and there were tables everywhere, so I headed back to the supply closet. The needle, thread and alcohol were in the second priority position, after the seaweed. Ignoring the tight feeling in my chest, I grabbed and made my way back into med bay, where Jasper, Monty, Raven and Octavia had just settled Bellamy down on the table nearest the doorway. 

'Thank you.' I said quietly. 'Jasper, Monty, Octavia, we don't need you for this. Octavia - ' I cut her off as she began to protest, shaking my head. 'You can't help, and you'll just be a distraction.' 

'But Clarke - ' She pleaded. 

'Octavia!' I cut her off again. She looked at me, unconvinced. So I said, almost in a whisper, 'You love him too much.'   
She seemed, slowly, to accept this. She nodded, and turned away, towing Jasper and Monty behind her. Raven stayed where she was, looking to me for instructions.   
I swallowed, trying not to look at the unconscious boy on the table. 

'Ok. Raven. Could you get a bucket of clean water, please, and a rag of some kind.'   
She nodded and walked away. I took the opportunity to inspect Bellamy's wound. 

I pulled his shirt up to reveal the origin of the blood, and it appeared to be not one wound, but several, in the same place. Curious, I fetched a pair of scissors from where they lay on another table and cut away his shirt. There was one large, deep cut, where a knife had slashed his abdomen, and then several other radiating out from the first, like a sun. Almost like whoever did this was drawing on him. The idea sickened me, and I looked away, up to his face. It was almost a relief, to see him normal, like he could just be asleep, and it made me realise just how much Bellamy had scared me. 

I turned my attention back to his wound and tried to reassemble his skin. There were only two cuts that would need stitching, and there didn't seem to be anything in there that shouldn't be. I tried to avoid looking at Bellamy's bare chest. It embarrassed me to no end that it affected me so much, particularly with him lying on a table bleeding out. To distract myself, I threaded the needle. My fingers shook. It was always like this, though. My fingers shake, my breath gives out, I feel like throwing up. But I'm always fine after the first stitch. 

Raven came back bearing water and passed me the rag. I sent her away with the others. I cleaned the wound, doused it in alcohol, and stitched it. I did it all in a daze, trying not to think about whose stomach it was, whose neck I had to touch to feel for a pulse. Time passed in a blur.   
After I bandaged his side, I sat watching him for a long time. He looked so different when he was unconscious. His face was peaceful, his eyes had none of that practiced hardness that came with being responsible for people's lives. But then again, his lips didn't have that endearing lilt in the corner, either. Curious, I ran my fingers along his stomach. He had muscles, but the kind that comes from hard work, not from hours at the gym. I think I fell asleep like that, face turned towards him, fingers resting on his abdomen.

 

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Bellamy can vaguely remember toppling through the gates, but then the real world is gone.

The pain, he can feel it, he can feel it everywhere, along his back, through his stomach, crisscrossing around and making tangled knots in his head. For a split second, he can feel the pain twisting reality into something warped, and then it snaps back into place again. And suddenly, in front of him, a hand reaching out threateningly, was a grounder, lips twisted back in a snarl, eyes bright with the battle fever. He let loose a string of 'no's and scrambled backwards. The evil followed him. 

Bellamy stood to face it, determined to be brave, and the grounder kept coming, arm outstretched, until it touched his shoulder, and Bellamy couldn't think, couldn't think, could only act, so he thrust out against it with all his might. He thought he might have been yelling something, but his back hurt and his head hurt and then the sky above him turned a deep red and the trees seemed to crowd in on him, laughing, and he pushed, he pushed against them because he couldn't stand the restriction, couldn't stand the smallness. Another wave of agony ricocheted through his body, bouncing off of his bones, and he toppled to the ground, at the mercy of the trees, who stood around him, cackling. 

He could feel, everything. He could feel the blisters on the soles of his feet, the tingle of something on either side of his head and most of all, the blinding fire in his stomach. He punched and kicked at every surface he could reach, in a feeble attempt to break the circle of wood that kept him imprisoned, but it was to no avail. He was trapped, gulping for air, and he couldn't move, the trees had wrapped their roots around his every limb, it was all he could do to lift his head. And then, amidst the many sufferings, he felt a prick somewhere, he couldn't be sure where – he'd lost track of where the different parts of his body were – and then a frightening haze slid over his vision. He fought it, rearing up from his leafy bonds, but this only deepened the blur, smearing the red of the sky until it was black, and he couldn't see, but still he fought. And then something deeper took over and his limbs fell, one by one, in slow motion, but he could still feel. He could still feel the hole in his body, the gaping wound and torn flesh of his stomach, and the rippling agony over his back, and worst of all, his head. Nails were being driven into his temples as he lay, unable to do anything. Worms were burrowing into his head and he wanted so desperately to pull them out, to rub and scratch until the pain went away, but he couldn't, and it didn't, and he lay there in agony for what seemed like forever.


End file.
